voice, "an'
there's an old chap there I can't be certain of. S'pose you go an' have
a look at 'im."

"Which one?" inquired his innocent friend.

Full of a great joy, Sam led him to the place of his mortification, and
waiting until he was fairly in, stood listening behind the door.

"Why don't they speak up?" he said crossly, as a low, indistinct
murmuring reached him. He strained his ears intently, but could not
catch anything, and losing all patience, was just about to push the
door open and peep in when he heard a roar of laughter. Peal upon peal
sounded until the bar shook with it, and an expression of peace and rest
came over his face as he pictured the scene inside.

"Don't," said the cook's voice feebly.

There was another roar of laughter, to which Sam grinned a silent
accompaniment.

"You'll kill me," said the cook again, in a choking voice.

"No worse for you than for me, my lad," said Sam, with great content.

There was another roar in which Sam, to his amazement, fancied that the
cook joined. He was still listening in a state of maddening perplexity
when he heard the cook's voice again.

"Poor old Sam!" it said distinctly. "Poor old Sam! I'd 'ave given
anythin' to 'ave seen him."

The listener stiffened up suddenly and, holding his breath, went off
on tiptoe down the street, the sounds of the foolish mirth in the
bar ringing in his ears as he went. His brain was in a whirl, but two
definite objects shaped themselves in his mind as he walked fiercely
on--to smash first the syndicate, and then the cook. With these ideas
firmly fixed he went aboard again, and going into the lonely foc'sle,
climbed into his bunk and forgot his sorrows in sleep--in a sleep so
sound that the others, upon their return an hour later, failed to wake
him, until Henry, as a last expedient, threw a slice of bread at him.
After which everybody had to keep awake all night to mount guard over
their lives.

CHAPTER VII.

The search at Bymouth obtained no further assistance from Sam. For the
remainder of their stay there he hardly moved from the ship, preferring
to smoke his pipe in peace on board to meeting certain jocular spirits
ashore who wanted to buy bootlaces. Conversation with Dick and the
boy he declined altogether, and it was not until they had reached
Cocklemouth that he deigned to accept a pipe of tobacco from the cook's
box.

Cocklemouth is a small lone place on the Welsh coast. When a large ship
gets int